


Like Smoke Dripping

by piraterhino



Series: Dirt and Sin and Lies [3]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piraterhino/pseuds/piraterhino
Summary: I didn’t know it yet, but Colombia had changed me.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Javier Peña, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Series: Dirt and Sin and Lies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129520
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	Like Smoke Dripping

So the thing. About Javi...

It became a bit of a problem. See, it’s easy to want something you know you can’t ever have. That’s no problem. Any man with a centerfold could tell you that.

\--

The problem. Was Carrillo.

“I wouldn’t judge Carrillo. You had a partner killed. He’s lost a dozen.” And there’s a spark in his eye and a twitch to his shoulders that's combative, too personal, for it to be casual.

Code of ethics for CI’s but not torture... it’s just like Peña to be such a contrary shit. Didn’t think he’d be so sensitive about it, though.

The problem was also the fucking commie guerilla hand grenade.

The problem was always my fucking mouth.

“Are you fucking her?”

And Javier Peña… he was noticing shit he shouldn’t notice, either.

“Sleep with a… communist?” The pause was just a second too long, long enough for my pulse to stutter, and my fingers to itch toward the gun at the small of my back.

“That would be downright un-American.”

\--

It would have been one thing for Javi to be fucking Elisa Alvaro, another prostitute, another stray guerilla princess he wants to rescue... Javi always did have a soft spot for the beautiful and wounded, but…

There was news I had to share, and I knew Javi was with Carrillo, another meeting I was left out of, but when I went into the office, they were bent over maps, and I watched Carrillo pluck the cigarette absently from where Javi had just finished hitting it, and drag, slow and thoughtful on it.

I didn’t know it yet, but Colombia had changed me.

\--

Colombia was a sticky, tropical country of frantic movement and color, and syrupy afternoons where time dripped like the sweat down your neck. You wouldn’t know it by the culture, but Colombia had decriminalized homosexuality almost a decade ago.

One thing commies, patriots, capitalists and narcos all had in common? A faggot was a faggot was a faggot.

And Javi, a Texan, a latino, a DEA agent… he knew all that.

The ride home had been silent. I’d been livid, unable to say why, to say what it had awoken, writhing and hateful in my gut to watch that cigarette pass from Javi’s mouth to Carrillo’s, but it’d been in my eyes, my words, my temper, the rest of the day, all meaner than a striped snake, and twice as stepped on.

I’d slapped on the radio and Javi had punched it off, pointing at me, lips tight on the smoke in his mouth.

“You’re being a _real_ piece of shit, Murphy,” he snapped, “Drink it off when you get home, but don’t say another fucking word to me, today.”

“And how will you be passing the night, Peña?”

“I said shut the fuck up, Murphy!”

And maybe the drip, drip, _drip_ of time, and Carrillo’s attentions to Javi had eroded my brain, my better sense if I’d ever had any, but I rose to his challenge without question. “Or what?? Or what, huh? I asked what you’re doing tonight. Or should I say _who_? He’s got a wife, Javi, and a _kid_ , and a military career! You can’t give him a few hundred pesos and have him walk away like nothing, you _fucking_ \--”

Javi drove off the road, a hard right into an alley near the Embassy apartments, slamming on the brakes and shoving it into park, hands yanking at me before I could fend him off, hauling me close and my heart was pounding, my blood was hot, and this was it.

“You _stupid_ , fucking white boy. You think you know _anything_? You think you know anything about who I am? Who _he_ is?? You pissed, Murphy?”

It was tight, close, claustrophobic in the cabin of the truck, Javi’s hands were tight and shoving, always a mix of pushing me away and pulling me closer, and I could smell the sweat and the hint of aftershave bravely clinging to his skin with the smoke.

“You pissed your partner’s a maricón, or you pissed it wasn’t you? Think I haven’t _seen_ you? Looking. Watching.” He hissed as he shook me, dark eyes burning. “You think you’re _better_ than me for not eating when you’re starving? Your hands are cleaner than mine?”

“ _Goddamnit_ , Javi--”

“If I’m gonna die here, it won’t be hungry. And it _won’t_ be with you looking down on me.” His mouth crashed down on mine, chapped lips, biting teeth, acrid tobacco on his tongue and I moaned, starved and suddenly fed, hands on board with pulling, pulling him closer, gripping his throat, his jaw, his hair.

It lasted forever, the mean bite of his kiss, invasive press of his tongue, the snarled cursing when he pulled back for air, the way he shoved my body harder against the door of the truck, halfway across the bench seat, his hand squeezing my throat till I gasped.

My spit was still shining on his lips when he laughed, eyes bitter like black coffee, and shook his head, hand reaching behind me to shove open the door. I barely caught myself falling out, bewildered, panting, hard in my fucking jeans and my head spinning.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Javi--”

“Get home on your own.”

“ _Javi_!” I was shouting it through the slammed door, and over the roar of his engine as he peeled back out of the alley, narrowly avoiding the cars honking in alarm.

I rubbed my hands over my face, looking up at the dark sky and swallowed hard, chest heaving.

It was only a few blocks from home, but I needed the time. Needed to think. Needed a cigarette. So I lit up and started walking.


End file.
